The Turnipseller
by A Wee Bit Insane
Summary: So... do you really think you heard ALL the stories told by Jan Jansen?
1. The Broomguard

I. The Broomguard, or Great Expectations

Ah, I knew a bard once. A blue - haired bard, that is, and before you will all say 'Jansen, you old liar!' I will tell you that this colour was of course not natural. This poor lad used to dye them when he thought nobody saw him. Poor thing, indeed, lying to everyone and saying he was a tiefling, not a mongrel with colorful hair dyes and powders. Sad, very sad. But, it is not this blue haired liar of a bard I would like to tell you. No, not at all, for someone who did not like turnips is not worth remembering.

What I wanted to tell, my good people, is a story about the one that this bard resembled. It is a very scandalous tale, so all proper nobles and rich merchants should cover their ears. Ready? Good.

It all began on a rainy day (all grand stories begin on a rainy day, actually) in the Slums of Athkatla. A young gnomish beggar used the opportunity - water falling from the sky is nothing ordinary! - to clean himself up. After that, he knocked to my mother's sister's cousin's door, planning to ask for some coins, and then leave.

This good gnome, however, did not want to hear of such a thing. "I don't want to hear such a thing, my lad, he said, come in, and I will treat you as a son I never had." He must have been toasting this fine morning with a fair share of turnip ale, if you ask me. But, apart from the liquors and their influence on my poor kinsman, the beggar gnome - named Bongo - moved in and got a job on my mother's sister's cousin turnip farm. Since he could not do many things right - or I guess I should say he could not do ANYTHING right - the poor farm owner occasionally allowed him to sing. You see, when people feel useless, asking them to sing a song is the best way to put them out of their misery... and, as a result, to put yourself in even greater misery. I guess priests of Ilmater would approve. Anyway, after half a year or so, my kinsman gave Bongo a broom and asked if he would clean the house once a day. The ex - beggar was delighted, and his new job gave him much satisfaction. He danced with the broomstick as if it was a comely gnomish lass, and proclaimed himself a Broomguard. Moreover, he used to say that every turnip will rot in it's time, and that no one can save it, no matter what. My poor kinsman was very tolerant... until Bongo started to hit on the innocent elvish lass whom my mother's sister's cousin wanted to marry. The farm owner flew into a rage when he found out - and that was spectacular, for the only thing this good gnome flew in before was a ballon, and the trip was not very long - and threw Bongo out.

There is, of course, a moral to this story, as there is a moral to any good story, and this one was certainly such. First, give beggars money, not care, as they become gentlemen only in the books. And secondly, some things should stay where they belong. Turnips should stay in the ground... and some blue haired bards should stay in the sewers. And some Avariels in the air. You know, how it goes. 


	2. Why Did The Halfling Cross The Road?

IV. Why Did The Halfling Cross The Road?, or Jansen's Silly Hate Crime

Ah, jests. Is it not grand to hear one or two, or three, or four... or even five? Six would be an overdose, don't look at me with those eyes. I will tell five and no more. What? You say you didn't ask? Well, it is your problem that you are shy, not mine. You want a joke, I can see it in your eyes. So, let the old gnome oblige... you see, I told this jest only once, when I was a wee boy yet. We were returning home, you see, me and a couple of my friends, from a place where they taught us how to read, write, and how to behave. No one ever told us which utensils we should use to eat turnips, so my Da decided that homeschooling would be way better, but that is not the story. Or maybe it is? Well then, my Da came to the principal and asked why on Faerun he taught children to recite some gibberish. 'Sir, said my Da, why on Faerun do you teach children to recite some gibberish?! I invited the whole family to come over for dinner, and said, little Jan, show us what they taught you at school, thinking that he will at least eat his roasted turnip with proper manners, but no! My son stood up and started to recite poetry! Sir, this is highly improper!'. So the headmaster patiently asked, 'My good man, what was improper?' 'He recited some piece about dead people, that is what's improper! Something about a captain who was lying on the deck, cold and dead, do you IMAGINE?! A cold and dead corpse before dinner? No one ate. My wife was devastated. You, sir, are responsible!' And that is how I quit school. But where was I? Ah, yes, the home returning. So, I asked... 'Why did the halfling cross the road?', and suddenly someone threw a rock at me. It was, of course, a little halfling, well, they are all little, but this one was a kid, who did not cross the road, but threw from afar. I cried, and the guards came. I thought they were going to help me, but no! They dragged me into prison, me, a wee child yet, and started to shout. 'You are not allowed to tell jokes about halflings!', a guard told me. 'But why, I asked, he threw a rock at me!'. The officer was furious. 'Do NOT change the subject!', he yelled. 'Jokes about halflings are hate crime! You can't tell such jokes!'. I asked why, but was so scared, that I don't remember much from his answer, still. It had something to do with a Dark Lord, and I figured that sometimes it is better to be a halfling. You can throw rocks at whomever you want.  
Ah, the joke? Well, the reply was: 'Because his servant carried him on his back'. After he threw away all his pans and pots, I think 


	3. The Exorcist

The Exorcist, or Adieu, Goodman Devil

I will never know why the priests get so excited about demons and soul posessions. In my family, we believed it was a normal thing. One or two spirits in a single body were never a big deal among us. Take uncle Bungo, for example. Some people said he was so fat that he needed three souls at least, but they just envied him. He could eat all he wanted, but those poor fools starved themselves and thought they were pretty. Bah! If anyone thought bones are pretty, there would be more necromancers in the world. This uncle Bungo had four demons. One was telling us stories which were unsuitable for children, the other allowed us to drink wine, the third was giving us sweets after bedtime, and the fourth was stealing apples from the High Watcher's garden. Me and my siblings were kids by then, and you can be sure we all loved dear uncle Bungo. Alas, our parents thought there was something wrong with him. Do not ask me, why, some people just can not tell a good thing when they see it. They took him to the priest and told him to 'cure' our poor uncle. This godly self - righteous excuse for a priest recognized my uncle as the one who stole his apples. He gave him one hell of an exorcism. Later, he claimed that my uncle was rolling around the bed and doing some nasty things with the Hollowed Symbol of Helm. A load of bollocks, if you ask me, I am sure uncle was just sitting there and wondering what the hell is this priest on about with all these strange prayers.  
He returned to us greatly changed, unfortnately. From then on, he would give us milk instead of vine, tell tales instead of some grown - up stories and gave us nothing more than a 'goodnight' after bedtime. I believe I do not need to mention he never touched anything that came from the High Watcher's garden again. A boring, sad man, he became.  
And that is why, folks, priests are useless. They spoil everything. A devil is often a good man. If you do not believe me, go read a play! 


	4. The Merchant Of Tolerance

The Merchant of Tolerance, or Director Gets Flamed

You know, I was an actor once. Yes, yes, just like this blue - haired ejit you might have known. Not being as tall - and definitely not being as colorful - I had to wear some huge platform shoes to make myself visible for the noble audience. They were sitting on some riddiculously high chairs, as if they could not form a decent circle and sit around the stage like good kids should. They called it an amphitheathre and claimed it was ancient. Well, they should be ashamed of not being able to create something better when they had so much time to do so, right? Anyway, I was playing the main part. The director was charmed with my wits... I dare say, with my looks, as well, I was a young handsome gnome once, and the amphitheathre was not the only ancient thing this director liked, but hush, do not say it to anyone.  
The play was called 'The Merchant Of Faerun'. Some bad people said that I was given the main role because the play was 'racist' and the director wanted to show how tolerant he was, but do not believe them.  
And so, I put my costume on, with those insane shoes as well. I was able to take like five steps before finally collapsing. What a fall it was! My raven, twas a beautiful disaster, as some half - wits would say.  
It was a disaster, all right, but not a beautiful one. I fell on a torch, the torch fell on the scene, the scene was set on fire, my fellow actress got burned, she bumped into her hairdresser when she was escaping from the theathre, the hairdresser fell on the floor and the director fell on her, nobody knows, why.  
Of course, we managed to save everyone, still, the theathre was a complete mess. The director flew in a rage - after he got up, of course - and said that he will never hire a gnome again. Some bloke called him a racist. The director was furious. He went throgh all this just to show he was not racist. So he stands there, among all the staring people, and goes like: 'I can't be racist, you homophobe'  
And he hugged me, juck. 


	5. Judge Blyanna

V. Jugde Blyanna, or Living Gnomes Tell Many Tales

Ah, to protect the law and order, to uphold the right and pureness, to fight evil with good! A noble goal, achieved by noble people - so you all, paladins and priests, must settle yourselves for disappointment. Tsk. Only really noble people succeed in this, you know. Like Blyanna, for example. Such a noble woman, with the sharpest of wits and the wittiest of sharps. How do I know? You see, we got this letter once, and Ma called everyone for a family gathering. We gazed at this envelope the messenger brought us, and no one dared to open it. It was bearing the sign of the Council, you know, and no one who had a brain would read it. There were probably some not pleasant news there, so why should we read this? Ma would get mad and shoot the messenger or something. You think it is only a proverb, but it is not. She would do that, I know my own mother!  
Anyway, we were all too curious just to throw it away, so Da read it. It came out that they told him to come to the Council of Six Building and testify about the recent killing of Dawnbringer Gerald. We were very surprised that anyone actually missed him, because the world was certainly a better place without the late Dawnbringer. Well, that is not the case, is it? So, as soon as Da read it, Ma started to cry. She thought it was him who was accused. 'It is you who was accused', she said. 'Why, why oh why did you kill this man?' Da was shocked. 'You stupid woman! I didn't kill him!'. 'Are you sure?', asked Ma. Well. you know how it is. Thinking about it, Da realised that a few days ago he was intoxicated with turnip beer, and he did not quite know what he was doing, and remembered none of it. He could as well kill this poor priest instead of just staggering along the Slums, right? So, we were all very worried, you know.  
We went there, all Jansens together. It is a rare occasion to have a father hanged by the neck till death, and we were all sure that will be the fate of Da. When Judge Blyanna saw us, she looked somewhat amazed.  
'Bailiff', she said, 'There are gnomes in my courtroom'  
I did not know why, but people laughed. There were many of them there, as if watching cases was considered entertainment. Bah.  
'Sir Jansen, you were called here to answer'  
'I DID IT!' shouted Da, 'Hang me! I can't bear it anymore'  
'No!', Ma interrupted, 'I did it! Hang me instead'  
Well, I did not want my parents to die, and was always curious what was it like in the Land of Dead, so I said:  
'No! I did it! Cut my head off! My parents just wanted to save me. You know, like this man some preachers are preaching about all over the world, saving lives, giving his instead and all that'  
My sister Dee, who knew I could go on like this forever, and did not want me to die, either, interrupted:  
'He is innocent! I did it! He wanted to save me, too'  
The Judge wanted to say something, but Uncle Scratchy, yes, THIS uncle Scratchy told her:  
'They all lie to save my life! I killed him'  
As if anyone would like to sacrifice themselves for uncle Scratchy, tsk.  
Bailiff was laughing his brains off. What was so funny in a bunch of altruistic gnomes, I will never know. Maybe it was a Bailiff's idea of joke.  
'Judge, I'  
Blyanna looked at him. She seemed worried, you know.  
'I take it you killed Dawnbringer Gerald, too?' After the crowd stopped laughing - what idea it was, to bring people to court, I'll never know - she told us: 'Dear gnomes, we have this defendant here who already said he was guilty. What I wanted to ask you, was if you knew of any antagonisms between those too, but I am certainly not going to do that now. You are free to go'  
Da bid a very courteous farewell, and we all went away. They said that at the ending of the case, Jugde said 'Were I a killer, I'd like to be a Jansen'. Well, she did not really mean that, anyway. She just said it for all those people in her courtroom, I am sure. 


	6. Alas, poor Wertle!

Alas! Poor Wertle!, or Arcand Is Mad Againe

You know, this tale of Mad Arcand - because you met a gnome calling himself Mad Arcand somewhere along the Sword Coast, didn't you? - was very important to me. Not that it was good. After all, you are not a gnome. I wonder if your mother knows... but, anyway, I was searching for any news of my lost cousin, called Wertle. And now, thanks to you, my storytelling good nice friend, I know that he lives and is all well. Oh, why the confusion, why the amazement on this face of yours, eh? I'd say you've been eating too much turnip cookies lately - the Surprise Turnip Cookies, I mean. Mad Arcand is my cousin Wertle! You could tell by the way he constantly repeats his name, all that 'wertle woo, poor wertle'. Some say it is self - compassion, I think he just wants to remember his old name. Either way, you might want to know why did he wander all this way, and in such mental state. Or, you might don't want to hear it, as well, but who cares? One gnomish tale a day keeps the doctor away. Not the head doctor, though. But it's still for your own good, you know. That is what happened to poor Wertle, not enough right stories - and he got mad. He heard much tales how to make good turnip sweets, and decided to try it by himself.

There is a secret recipe for a delicious icing to roasted turnips. I can't tell you, it wouldn't be a secret anymore if I did, and you know that! No no no, don't even ask. My lips are sealed. With this mysterious icing, fried turnip tastes like the best of sweets, and of course it is the best sweet. Wertle did it for the first time in his young life, and, of course, he got all wrong. Instead of lovely frosting, he mixed an Oil of Fiery Burning... and used it on the poor wee turnips.

The consequences were horrible. I am not talking of Wertle going mad, but think of the turnips! They all got burned and turned brown and tiny. Wertle was crying for three days, and after all that he decided to sell them anyway. Everyone tried to talk him out of it, even uncle Binky, who was so fat that he had to be carried by six young and strong gnomes. Of course, Wertle didn't listen, constantly repeating his 'wertle, poor wertle' and making Oils of Fiery Burning to create even more so called sweets. Such hideous things need good advertisement, so he hired Hodo The Lying Gnome to take care of it. This bad gnome wandered the Slums over and over, yelling like a town crier, that grandpas should buy sweets to their grandsons, to make them feel someone special. Where did he get that, I will never know, but it worked, as all gnomish tales do! Soon old gnomes were standing in lines to buy sweets from Wertle. He called those inventions Wertle's Original and sold them in very ugly packs. After a few days of prosperity, he suddenly disappeared.

He gave you an Oil of Fiery Burning, eh? Well, you certainly are lucky. Otherwise he'd give you some of his sweets. If I were you, I wouldn't eat those. Wertle's Original, yuck! To make money on the misery of so many turnips! 


	7. Parcel Of Dwarves

Parcel of Dwarves, or Their Master's Voice

You know, each and every time I hear a dwarf, I wonder 'why do they speak as if they were always gritting their teeth?'. Or, I guess, I should say 'I wondered', till the very day when auntie Jessie explained it to me. Of course, being a wee bit deaf, she asked why did I think that even such creatures like dwarves would greet their teeth. When I specified what I ment, my poor old auntie was delighted I asked such a question. 'My little Jan - she said - I am delighted you ask such a question. You see, long ago, when the Gods created Faerun out of The Giant Turnip, or maybe a few eras later (and I didn't doubt Auntie remembered that, too) there was this horrible iron shortage. Not that one they were complaining about on the North, no, this was the first iron shortage in the world, and no one knew what to do, because it was the first time it happened, and when something happens for the first time, people usually all go like 'what the hell I'm dying help help' or something. This time was no different. The dwarves, who were speaking normally before all these things happened, made a great offering to Clangeddin (it's not hard to find dwarfish virgins, you see) and all came to his temple to seek advice. Unfortunately... I mean, unfortunately for my uncle, who was a thief and was stealing gold from this so called holy place. As they entered, he hid himself behind the greatest of sculptures - he was quite fat by then, you know, and a slim column just wouldn't do - and waited for the dwarves to leave. Well, those little fellows wouldn't do that, and after their priest once again asked Clangeddin for guidance, they just stood there, waiting for anything to happen. Well, my uncle didn't want them to be unhappy and disappointed - most of all, he didn't want them to be THERE while he was doing his grand heist - so he said as loud as he could 'KEEP IRON IN YER MOUTH AND NO ONE WILL STEAL, POISON, OR DESTROY IT!' The dwarves obeyed, and they do till this very day. This lot rarely questions anything, if it's not false gold. So, my uncle is the reason why the dwarves speak the way they speak. Try to speak differently with all those pieces of iron in your mouth!'

That is, my friend, what my Auntie said to me. But why do they say 'slainte' when drinking, even she did not know. My granny 


End file.
